


death's black train (is coming)

by pharmakon



Series: one foot in the grave [1]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, a cameo or two, reluctant badass!Wirt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-05-10 02:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14728028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pharmakon/pseuds/pharmakon
Summary: Wirt remembers the Unknown, even if he kind of wishes he didn't. And when things start getting a little strange in his town, he and Greg are the only ones prepared to come face to face with the supernatural-- again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen many "Wirt fights the supernatural" fics, so here's my contribution to the fic pool.

After the Unknown, Wirt had thought he wouldn't be able to stand the woods. His brother had almost _died_ by becoming some weird kind of soul-tree (his fault, it was his fault), and they had both wandered, two lost spirits, for what had felt like weeks in that liminal forest. And it was true that every towering tree, every long stretch of trail with nothing modern or familiar lining his way, every cold wind or old cabin made him shudder and look for Greg.  But the rest of it--

There was an itch, growing under his skin, the more time he spent in his room, or in school, or out with Sara's friends. It pulled at him, made him restless and irritable, made him feel like there was a long strand of yarn tied around his heart leading inexorably to the forest. Like he was being tugged out to the wilderness. A long, slow, endless yearning.

It was a pity that wasn't an excuse he could give to his mom for why he felt the need to go outside again, at night, when just last fall he and his brother had almost drowned. He'd had to come up with a fictional school project instead. Wirt wasn't wandering around aimlessly at night, he was just... cataloguing... leaves! For a project! Yeah!

... Even Greg wouldn't believe that, if he heard it. But then, Wirt wasn't going to be taking Greg out to the old cemetery at night no matter how much he begged, so that didn't matter anyway.

"Oh, for the warming corpse, company to worms and the endless melancholy of night," Wirt rambled to keep away the silence. 

The graveyard, eerie even in the presence of others, took on an otherworldly air so late at night. Liquid shadows pooled in the hollows of the grave-dirt, blackening the disturbed soil and coating every blade of grass in sooty darkness. The moon hanged high above like a silver dollar suspended mid-flip, casting milky light down on the trees and the great wall separating graves from train-tracks. Wirt hummed to himself, almost happy despite the creepy atmosphere and the February chill, and tried to commit each metaphor to memory as they came to him. At two in the morning his mom said every thought seemed profound, but Wirt thought the night air (oh, it's poison!) just jogged his creativity. And anyway, he wasn't lost, and the Beast was dead and also in another world or something, so he had nothing to fear from there.

(And yet he glanced over his shoulder and hunched nonetheless.)

He stopped walking once he reached a mottled old headstone, barely legible and half-eaten by moss. Carefully, he kneeled and brushed some dirt aside, his breath misting out in front of him. Wirt really wished he'd brought a better jacket.

On the headstone, the surname identical to those on the many gravestones around it: BEATRICE.

When Wirt had first found the grave, he'd cried. Now, a few visits in, he only managed a small, tremulous smile. "Hey, Beatrice," he offered to the silence. "So, uh. I haven't come by in a while. Have I."

A faint winter breeze rustled the leaves at the edge of the cemetery. Wirt shivered from what he told himself was only the cold. "There's this story we read in AP Lit I thought you might like," he continued valiantly. "About-- um, let me start from the beginning. There was an old church, in an old town, and people had been buried in its cemetery for hundreds of years, awaiting, uh, awaiting salvation. They would hear the trumpets or something of heaven someday, they thought, and they would rise up and go to heaven then. But until then they were underground, sleeping, because they were dead. But this was the Industrial Revolution, and everything was modernizing, and one day there came this train..."

The story went: after the railroad was built right next to the old church, the parson started to wake up in the middle of the night to strange noises from outside. The train would rumble by, as loud as thunder, and shake the ground, and that night he would hear noises. Well finally the parson went out at night to listen for what it was that disturbed him, and he heard conversation, muffled by the earth.

"My baby! Where's my baby?" a woman's voice sobbed. Beneath a tiny gravestone another voice wailed and shrilled.

Yet another shouted gruffly, "What's that sound? Is it the angel Gabriel? Is it time?" to a chorus of protests and complaints.

And yet another, the grave-dirt not yet settled over her corpse, yelled back, "It's just that infernal steam engine!"

The parson, much shaken, went back inside and convinced himself that it had been a dream.

But the racket continued. Every day the steam engine would come by, whistling and rumbling, and every night the graveyard would come alive with complaints, until finally the parson had had enough. The very next day he petitioned the town council to relocate the bodies of the graveyard to a quiet hill on the edge of town, because--and here Wirt cracked a dorky grin-- the railroad was _literally_ loud enough to wake the dead!

Silence. Even the faint animal rustling had ceased. "I think it's kind of funny," Wirt tried. "Yeah, okay, you probably would've just glared at me for that." Nothing. Given how Beatrice had responded to his poetry, and also given the fact that Beatrice had been dead for over a century, it wasn't actually all that surprising.

Wirt kept these visits secret: from his parents, from his friends, from his classmates-- even from Greg, most of the time. He had enough problems fitting in and making friends without becoming that weird kid who hung out at the cemetery all the time, and even Sara would probably question why he suddenly felt the need to confide in old dead people. Like Wirt's newfound attraction to the woods and like Jason Funderberker's (the frog's) glowing belly, it wasn't something that could be easily explained.

Behind him, a few leaves shifted.

Beatrice's wearied gravestone didn't move-- in fact, nothing changed at all-- but the hairs on the back of Wirt's neck suddenly stood up nonetheless, a feeling of unease blossoming behind his eyes. The graveyard had fallen quiet, the quiet of the dead, but it was wrong somehow. Too heavy, too oppressive, an almost _rank_  weight to the air, like it rotted where it sat in Wirt's lungs. A hot, sickly-sweet smell of decay, bacteria and fungi and dead things left to the elements. Flesh coming apart in death.

A rustling, behind him where he couldn't see.

Silence.

 _Wirt, whatever you do, don't. Move. A muscle!_ Wirt didn't question the wordless command. His muscles froze up without his input, as his instincts wavered between fight and flight and settled on freeze. All the eerie stillness of nighttime seemed to congeal into something more menacing, more immediate: a time and place where no one could hear him scream.

Please don't be a serial killer, please don't be a serial killer...

The shuffling came nearer, until the rotten air almost choked Wirt with its closeness. He could sense, rather than see, something big and human-shaped behind him: something, or someone, hulking and muddy and reeking of sodden earth and spoiled meat. The person, or creature, didn't breathe loud enough for Wirt to hear, but stood, shifting slowly from one foot to another as it seemed to explore the area. How could it not see him? He was standing right there, in plain sight, probably silhouetted against the wall... but the person didn't call out or grab at his shoulder. Wirt kept as still as a marble statue, pallid with fear, as whatever-it-was ambled just past him and moved slowly away.

Wirt waited a few minutes, until the stench faded, then unfroze all at once, adrenaline shaking through his muscles as he relaxed. The night seemed darker to him now, darker and more deadly, and suddenly all the moonlight and good will in the world wasn't enough to keep him out past dusk. What in the world had _that_ been?

And how had it not noticed his presence?

Wirt stepped back on shaking legs from Beatrice's grave and turned around. As he did, he noticed two things:

A pair of huge footprints, dug deep into the soil, facing right in Wirt's direction.

And a small blue feather, caught on Wirt's pant leg, gleaming bright and familiar in the light of the moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named that girl Sara's arguing with in the cemetery in the show "Mary" because I couldn't find a name for her. Also, this is somehow becoming even longer than I thought it would. How is this happening. How.
> 
> Edit: Minor changes for the sake of grammar, but nothing about the plot or anything was changed.

"You're getting off topic," Mary said furiously. The food court was busy that day, loud with conversation, but Mary's practiced voice soared over the noise regardless. Sometimes Wirt regretted hanging out with Sara's debate friends. They never seemed to have an off switch. "You're twisting the conversation into something on gender roles. All-girls' schools don't enforce gender roles, they free girls from stereotype threat by giving them female role models."

For example, right now Wirt only had a vague idea of what they were talking about.

"The very concept of single-sex schools can only enforce gender roles! Just having girls means they'll be programmed to hang out only with girls and never be familiar with boys-- and all boys schools rob boys of the chance to see girls as people since they won't interact with them enough!"

"Oh, that is ridiculous, like these people won't have friends and family?"

"Some people won't! You're assuming they'll all be from certain backgrounds--"

Sara smiled awkwardly at Wirt and said, "Uh, guys? Maybe save the contentions for later."

Amanda broke off from her argument and said, frustrated, "Sure, I guess."

Mary just shrugged. "Cool. Hey, did you guys hear about why the school closed today? That whole mess in the hallway?"

Wirt tensed; he felt a sense of foreboding, like a cloud darkening the sun. No, that wasn't concerning at all. "No, uh, no, I haven't, at least. What mess?"

Amanda shoved a handful of fries in her mouth and said, "Yeah, come on, tell us!"

Mary lowered her voice, and the whole group-- Sara, Amanda, and Wirt, who had a suspicious feeling he was only there because Jason Funderberker wasn't available-- leaned in. "What I heard is, when Mr. Lancer got to school this morning, a bunch of windows were broken. So he went inside, and there was all this graffiti everywhere, like weird symbols and stuff, and it smelled weird, and then he stepped forward and _guess what he stepped on_."

"Aw, Mary, just tell us--"

"Nope! Guess."

"A giant pentagram?" Sara tried.

Amanda rolled her eyes and said, "A great big pile of dog shit." Mary's knowing grin grew.

Dread crept slow and heavy over Wirt's skin. He had kept the feather he found, had put it in his desk where his mom wouldn't throw it out by accident. Last night had seemed almost like a dream, just like all his other trips to the graveyard, a few hours for him and him alone, but...

But he had run home and climbed back into his window, had closed and locked it against the night air, had gone to bed shivering without even cleaning the dirt off his skin...

And for what? A dream?

No, he didn't think it had been a dream.

"A body," he said. His throat felt tight, and he tried to lighten up, tried to smile. He was pretty sure he just looked constipated. "Was-- was it a body?"

Mary looked a little sullen at his stealing her thunder, but she got back into the storytelling spirit fast enough. "Lucky guess!" she declared. "And yeah, it totally was. Lancer said it had teeth, like a shark's or an eel's. Like it wasn't human. I heard the police are blaming it on a Satanic cult, like they robbed a grave and did a ritual or something."

"Great, now my mom'll really make me stop playing D&D."

"Uh-huh. Right." Sara laughed. "So, Mary, uh, where are you getting all this?"

"Yeah, Mary, cite your sources!"

Mary sniffed. "For your information, my uncle's a police officer. He told me about what happened when I asked him this morning."

Wirt's memory sparked. "Hey, wasn't he the one who kept telling kids they were under arrest on Halloween?"

The atmosphere got a little hesitant, like it did every time Wirt mentioned something related to how he and Greg had almost drowned. If only they knew. "Yeah, that's him," Mary said after a moment. "I get all the good gossip from him."

"It's nice to know you aren't actually hacking surveillance cameras," Sara teased.

"Please, like anywhere but the stadium and the 7-11 even has them in this town."

Oh, crap. The stadium! And just across from it! Wirt scrambled up from his seat and fumbled for his bag.

"Wirt? Where are you--"

"I forgot to pick up Greg!" He was such a bad brother, cancel one school day and he would lose track of time, and what if Greg wasn't there? What if he'd tried to go home by himself, or had gotten lost, or had wandered off in one of his games? "I-I'll text you guys later, okay?" Okay, he'd text Sara later; he hadn't gotten used enough to his new phone to text anyone else or even get their number. But the point stood.

"Okay, see ya!"

"Bye, Wirt!"

"Say hi to Greg for me!"

Wirt made it to Mrs. Daniels' just in time to trip and fall face first on the concrete in front of her house. This had not been a good day.

"Wirt? What're you doin' on the ground?" A body flopped down next to him before he could get up, and Wirt opened his eyes to his little brother's guileless face. "Whoa, everything's really big from down here!"

 _Relief is a heady feeling_ , Wirt thought. He should use that line in a poem.

"Greg, you're gonna get a ton of grass stains again," Wirt said, pushing back a smile. "Come on, get up." He tugged Greg back onto his feet.

A middle-aged woman stood watching them as she watered her petunias. "You're a little late, Wirt," she observed, and Wirt winced.

"Yeah, sorry, I lost track of time."

"Wirt looked up and all that time was just runnin' away!" Thanks, Greg. 

Mrs. Daniels spared Greg a smile. "Greg was a perfect darling today. Well behaved as ever. Apart from calling me an old lady, of course."

"Thanks for taking care of him for us." Wirt nudged Greg with his hip.

"Yeah, thanks, Old Lady Daniels!"

Greg's babysitter sighed. "You two have a good night. And don't forget your jackets!"

As they walked home, Greg said, "Hey Wirt, guess what? I found buried treasure!"

Wirt nodded absent-mindedly. "How'd you do that?"

"I was chasing this bluebird I thought looked like Beatrice--" Wirt winced; Greg had been trying to find their old friend ever since Wirt had told him he couldn't- "and I went behind Old Lady Daniels' rose bushes, kinda close to where I found my rock, and there were pirates there so I fought them off with my sword and then I was the Pirate King! And then I digged--"

"Dug."

"And then I dugged in the ground for a while and I hit buried treasure!"

"That's nice."

They passed the high school and Greg stopped in his tracks. "Greg? Come on, it's getting dark." Wirt fought off a sudden chill. It was getting cold, too.

There was a determined frown on Greg's face that meant he was definitely gonna ignore whatever Wirt said. "Wirt? Can we go look at your school?"

"I didn't go to school today, remember? They canceled it because of graffiti."

"But why can't we see it? We can be like super spies."

"No, Greg. We don't have time, it's getting dark." Greg huffed and started walking up to the school. "Greg!"

Greg faltered and ran back to tug on Wirt's hand. "We gotta go see it! Wirt, we gotta, Beatrice told me!"

Wirt snapped, "Beatrice isn't here, Greg. She's in the Unknown. And she wouldn't be a bluebird anymore anyway."

(Beatrice was dead, she had always been dead, and they'd never see her again.)

Greg shook his head furiously. "Nuh-uh, I saw her. I lied, the bluebird talked to me and she was Beatrice and she said we have to go look at the school! She said it's really important!"

"Greg," Wirt gritted out, "we're going home. We're not going to go break into a school because of one of your stupid games!"

"But she said it had to do with the zombie!"

Wirt froze. A zombie. She'd mentioned a zombie? "She what?"

Greg bounced in place. "The zombie! She said there's something wrong, something followed us, and we're gonna have a big problem if we don't go see what's going on."

Wirt deflated. "You're sure she said there was a zombie?" he asked plaintively.

Greg nodded. Oh no. "Sure as a shellfish!"

"That's not a thing people say, Greg," Wirt corrected half-heartedly. He could tell when he was outmatched.

And here he'd thought he'd gotten out of the Unknown when he and Greg had managed to escape the Beast. "Okay. Okay! Then I guess we've got to break into the school."

"We're gonna be in a lot of trouble when we get home," Greg agreed cheerfully. He trotted ahead, trailing Wirt behind him.

The sky above them started to darken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review on your way out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wirt and Greg make a dumb decision. Expected of a five-year-old! Less expected of his teenage brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Minor changes for better flow and grammar, nothing about the actual story changed.

In Wirt’s studied opinion, there was nothing in the world as eerie as being in a high school after hours. The Unknown itself could barely compare. Every familiar shape or doorway, every long lacquered hallway seemed unfathomably foreign; every footstep echoed like a gunshot. Wirt kept wincing at the sounds, certain the police officer on guard could hear them. Greg just kept trotting forward, louder than a crew of tap dancers.

Wow, wouldn’t that have been a weird thing to meet in the Unknown. Maybe even weirder than those animals that stole their clothes.

Wirt stepped over a shard of broken glass and hissed, “Greg, watch your step.” His brother waved his tiny pocket flashlight in acknowledgement, sending the beam across the ceiling wildly, and Wirt stifled a sigh. Maybe he should have left Greg outside, instead of letting him come along to trespass and investigate some weird graffiti thing with him, but it had been Greg’s idea, and…

Well. With it being February, and with the thin coat of snow over everything, letting him out of sight was out of the question. It brought back bad memories.

The white flashlight beam glinted off broken glass and came to rest on the giant bee statue Wirt’s high school insisted on leaving in the main entrance. “Go Bumblebees!” Greg whisper-cheered. “Hey Wirt, we haven’t looked at this hallway yet!”

“Keep your voice down!” What if the cops heard them? Then they'd think  _Wirt_ had done the grave robbing...

“You shh!”

They went down that hallway. _Taking the road less traveled on._ “Can you smell anything? They said there was a bad smell.”

Greg wrinkled his nose. “I dunno. The whole place stinks!”

He wasn’t wrong. The school had smelled like rotting meat from the moment they’d stepped through the doors, and like blood. The floor had seemed sticky, too, but every time Wirt looked down it was clear. Probably just his nerves getting to him. Olfactory hallucinations were a thing, right? Haha, no, probably not.

It wasn’t until they stepped farther into the hallway that Wirt started to feel like they were being watched. A chill crept up his spine. “Hey, Greg? Come back here next to me, okay?”

His little brother saluted with the flashlight. “Yes, sir, brother o’ mine!” 

Greg trotted back to look up at Wirt, shined the flashlight in his eyes, and Wirt winced and stepped to the side—

His foot caught on something and he fell down hard. A foul stench choked his lungs. Greg said behind him, “Ooh, gross!”

Wirt, eyes kept up toward the ceiling, carefully got to his feet. “Greg,” he said, calm like a zookeeper who’d just realized the lion cage was empty. "What did I just trip on?”

Just enough of his brother’s face was illuminated for Wirt to see his frown. The flashlight beam swung around to rest on the thing at Wirt’s feet. His brain was barely assembling the raw input into a body when Greg said excitedly, “It’s a dead guy!” Then it clicked.

“Gah!” Wirt shrieked and danced backward, shaking his shoe. “What—why wouldn’t they remove it? Why would they just, just leave it there! Oh my god!” He fell against the wall and felt something sticky cling to his back, and jerked away again. “Aaaah… Greg, gimme your flashlight—“ He looked for a light switch and hit it; for a moment the whole world flared fluorescent white, and then he could see.

“Oh my god!”

“Wirt, look, it’s like Halloween!”

The hallway was a bloody abattoir: it looked like a serial killer had bled his victims dry and painted with their remains. The floor here was covered in thin scarlet layers, and the wall was drenched in rough bloody symbols, profane somehow, like the very act of looking at them tainted the eye. Wirt winced and looked down at Greg; his brother, ever a creature of instinct, already had his hands over his eyes.

“They make my eyes hurt,” he explained, peeking through his fingers.

Wirt grimaced. “No kidding.” He itched to leave, to pretend he and Greg were never here. Everything in him screamed to run and run and never look back, because you didn’t know what you’d see. He hadn’t felt like this since he was younger and had watched The Conjuring without permission. But something else drew his eye: the body on the floor, obviously in the late stages of decay. It had— in the corner of his eye, he could have sworn—

Greg picked up a piece of glass and threw it at the thing’s arm, and it spasmed like a dying man. Wirt yelped and stepped closer to Greg. “What…?”

The corpse twitched again. It raised its head jerkily, like a puppet being pulled on strings, and rose until it was sitting up. Then it turned its eaten-out eyes toward Wirt and Greg and said, impossibly, rotten scraps of flesh hanging from its jaw, “So you did come. Little. Lost boys.” Its mouth widened, wider than any human jaw could reach, loose with putrid tendons, and showed rows and rows of jagged teeth.

Wirt pulled Greg behind him, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. He thought he should have been more surprised than he was by a talking corpse. “Who are you?” he demanded shakily. “I-I killed the Beast, you know, in the Unknown! I could kill you too!”

A rasping laugh, dragged from a ruined throat. “Killer… such a liar, _such_ a murderer, giving its death for safekeeping into the hands… of a slave. You did not take its life yourself. You do not frighten me. Lost child. You are flesh for the taking.”

Wirt gulped. “Y-you didn’t answer my question.” Greg inched out beside him, eyes wide, and Wirt grabbed at his hand. This was such a terrible idea, he was never listening to Greg’s ideas ever again…

The corpse lolled its head, mouth wide like a shark’s. “I am… opium dens. Virgin’s blood. A vampire’s kiss. I am Famine, Craving, Addiction. I am. Thrall. You do not frighten me.” It hissed another laugh. “You do not frighten thirst… for love, fame, power… Sex.” 

Wirt covered Greg’s ears. “Would you mind?” he shrilled. Greg glanced up at him, eyes wide with innocent confusion, and even the zombie gave him a weird look. Why oh why had he thought this was a good idea…? “Why are you even here?”

The corpse gurgled, “The mortal plane… is ripe. Lives spent… addicted. Staring at. Technology. Begging… for approval, for hope, for drugs more potent than any I knew… Why should I, too, not feed? Poor little turtles,” it rasped, “you never said not to leave. You.”

Recognition slotted into place, but Greg had already beaten him to it, wriggling out of his grip. “You’re the ghost that tried to eat us!”

The zombie stared at Greg. “This time… it will not. Be try.”

“We chased you off with the bell once,” Wirt said, trying to be brave, like a ghost following him from a weird death-dream made sense. The Unknown affecting the real world was something he’d never wanted to think about. “We can do it again.”

“On this plane, with all this sustenance…? I am not so weak. And you will make me stronger yet.” The body started to stand— no, to float, rising from the ground— and the mouth got even wider. “I must… _feed_ …” Not a good sign, not a good sign!

Wit laughed nervously. “Haha, nope, not happening, not even a little bit— Greg, run!” Wirt grabbed Greg’s hand and started to sprint.

The lights shut off behind them, and a ghostly shriek pounded in Wirt’s skull. His feet came down hard on the floor, slipping in the blood, skittering for purchase— he pulled Greg along with him as he got his footing, and behind him he could feel the thing’s gaze, feel its rotten breath, the air as it flew—

“Greg, the bell!”

“I left it with Jason Funderberker!”

“Well that’s not very helpful!”

Wirt dragged his brother down another dark hallway and hoped muscle memory was enough to get them to the parking lot. The ghost screeched behind them, reached out grasping hands— and there were the broken glass doors, the stupid creepy bee statue, the streetlights—

“Wirt!” Greg screamed and jerked in his grip, two desiccated claws wrapped around his torso, and tried to squirm out of the ghost’s hands. Wirt felt adrenaline cool his veins, reached out and yanked Greg over the threshold of the school and threw a fist at the demon—

“Ooowww!” He hit something, and then blinked, staring up at a streetlight and a hint of stars, the perspective change making him dizzy. He pushed himself upright and stared at his assailant. “I was just checking to see if you were okay!”

Wirt stared some more. A bike helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, and a vest, all covered in yellow reflective tape—a bike full of flashing lights— only one person could be so daring. “Jason _Funderberker_?” He glanced around for Greg and relaxed when he saw him waking up beside him. Why were they on the sidewalk…? “What… what just happened?”

His nemesis shrugged, rubbing his nose. Wirt said grudgingly, “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“You guys were just laying there, so I stopped to check if you were okay.” And it was just like Jason Funderberker to be so considerate, too. _Augh_.

His nemesis's bike was very carefully leaned against the fence; beyond it— Wirt squinted— was a chorus of police lights in the school parking lot. He didn’t remember having to sneak past those. Jason Funderberker continued, “I guess if I hadn’t woken you up the police might have. They came by to take the body away, y’know. And to wash off all the…” Jason Funderberker giggled and lowered his voice, “…blood.”

“No they didn’t,” Greg mumbled. He pushed himself upright and rubbed at his eyes. “Hi, Jason Funderberker the person.”

“Hi, Greg. Why were you on the ground? Were you making snow angels?”

Wirt said, “Yeah, uh, we were. Right, Greg?” Greg nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s snowing!”

“You’re lucky the cops didn’t find you. They’re on edge right now.” Jason Funderberker looked way too scintillated at the thought of the cops being on edge. Wirt added that to his reasons not to like him. Right next to _friends with Sara_ and _somehow popular_.

“Well,” Wirt said awkwardly, brushing snow off his pants. The cold seeped through his clothes and made him feel like shivering. “Thanks. I guess we got distracted or something. We’d… better go home now.”

Jason Funderberker warbled, “You’re welcome, Wirt,” and rode away on his bike. Wirt glared at his back until he was out of sight.

“He’s totally gonna tell Sara, and then she’ll think I’m weird! Weirder. Whatever.”

Greg bit his lip— and oh, his lips were blue, why hadn’t they worn better jackets?— and said, “But Wirt, she already thinks you’re weird ‘cause of that tape thing.”

Wirt shuddered. “Don’t remind me.” And then, staring back up at the school, “Greg, do you remember going in there? Seeing anything strange?”

Greg shook his head. “Nope!” Wirt deflated. “Just the zombie ghost that tried to eat us!”

“What— Greg! That’s weird, okay? And it’s weird that we just woke up here after, too.” He kicked at the ground. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember going through the parking lot at all. “You know what, let’s just go home. Mom and your dad are gonna be worried.”

On their way back, Wirt thought he saw a small, familiar shadow glide over the snow. But when he looked up at the sky, all he could see was the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review on your way out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wirt goes out to the woods.

Wirt was still smarting from his mother's scolding (how could he let Greg stay out that long in the cold without a proper jacket? His lips were  _blue!)_ when he went outside the next morning. He'd lost his smartphone privileges, which wasn't much of a loss-- all his poems were on paper, anyway, and he always felt too nervous for social media-- but it made him a little anxious nonetheless. What if someone tried to contact him and couldn't reach him? What if Sara called?

... She wouldn't call. But what if she did?

School wouldn't start again until tomorrow, so Wirt walked to the forest instead of the high school. There wasn't any point to being outside, since it wasn't snowing enough to play around in and none of his friends were out this early, but... that same itch burned under his skin-- to walk under old, tall trees, to feel the chill on his skin, to leave the modern and the shallow behind-- to breathe wild air and just keep wandering, farther and farther down overgrown paths into _lightless oblivion_...

He could think about that later, though. Right now, in the forest outskirts near the cemetery, Wirt had a different mission in mind. He'd gone to Home Depot and had bought a bird feeder. He'd filled it with bird seed. And now, in the early morning, close to Beatrice's grave, he was going to try to attract a bluebird.

Yeah, okay, it was a dumb plan, but dumb plans had worked in the Unknown sometimes. Wirt spread out a blanket on the ground, in the shelter of a few bushes, then stepped out a few paces and hung the bird feeder from another branch over Beatrice's grave. He stood back and watched to make sure it stayed up, then nodded to himself and went back to sit on the blanket. He had a bag full of hand warmers, gloves and a warm jacket, and a packed lunch. Wirt was  _ready._ And with school out, he didn't even have to worry about coming up with a good excuse to skip. He wasn't even sure how to do that without getting caught.

He took out a little journal and started writing out ideas for poems, keeping an eye on the feeder as he did.

An hour passed. A woodpecker showed up and ate a few grains, then banged its head against a tree. Wirt closed his eyes and leaned back against a tree, turning on one of the hand warmers and sticking it in his gloves. 

Two hours, and he was getting sick of chickadees and titmice. Three, and he'd had to chase starlings away for bullying other birds.

Four, and it started to lightly snow. Wirt questioned his resolve. Was there seriously no better way to contact a dead girl-turned-bird-turned-girl-again? Maybe he needed, like, occult summoning stuff. Would tea candles work? Did he need healing crystals? What  _were_ healing crystals? If it turned out he could have done all this indoors he would probably explode. Wirt pulled out a sandwich and ate it contemplatively.

A flicker of blue-- Wirt perked up-- and a red-chested bluebird landed at the feeder, pecking at the granola inside. Wirt stood up slowly, careful not to startle the little bird, and made his way towards it. When he was just a foot or two away, he said softly, "Beatrice? Is that you?'

The bird stared at him with black pebble eyes, then fluttered to the side of the feeder away from Wirt and eyed him warily. Wirt stopped moving. "Beatrice?"

The bluebird preened snow out of its feathers, ate a few more bites, and flew away. Wirt sighed. "Yeah, okay, I should've thought that would happen." He went back to his blanket and sat down with a huff. This was a waste of time.

_Cheese and crackers, Wirt, if you wanted to talk to me you could've just asked._

"Aah!" Wirt spun around and stared up into the branches, where a tawny bluebird primly sat. "Wha-- Beatrice?" A flare of indignation. "I've been waiting here for hours!"

Beatrice chirped in what sounded like derision and fluttered down to settle on the blanket, tucking her wings close.  _Yeah, quietly,_ she said,  _how am I supposed to hear you if you're not gonna talk out loud? I'm a ghost, not all-knowing._ They weren't words so much as impressions, flickering into being behind Wirt's eyes. 

"Right," he said dubiously. "And is there a reason there's suddenly ghosts everywhere? Are we-- are we still in the Unknown?" Had they just  _never left?_ Wirt felt a thick horror creep into him as he thought of it. If there were still supernatural things happening... did that mean that he and Greg were dead? Was this another Purgatory, another  limbo for he and Greg to wander forevermore, trapped in an eternal slumber, forever lost from life and joy?

_Pfft, no, you're out,_ Beatrice said, and Wirt jolted out of his doomsday musings.  _You just got followed by a demon. I mean, come on, didn't it tell you that already?_

"We wouldn't have met it at all if you hadn't told Greg to check out the school," Wirt accused.

Beatrice seemed to do her best to shrug with a bird's shoulders.  _Greg can handle himself. And it's not like you would've let him go alone, anyway. It's not easy contacting the world of the living, y'know. The Unknown's on a whole nother plane._

"Then how are we talking _now_?" 

_Do I look like a ghost expert to you?_ Beatrice huffed.  _It's because you were in the Unknown. I can talk to you and Greg. Anyone else just sees you glaring at a bluebird like a weirdo._

Wirt tried to straighten his face. "I'm not glaring," he said halfheartedly. "Wait, does that mean someone else you know is a ghost expert?"

Another chirp.  _That's what I'm here for! Here--_ she hopped off the blanket and scratched around in the snow.

Wirt watched her for a good five minutes, then asked, "Are you... trying to draw something?"

_You try to draw with no opposable thumbs!_ Finally she finished and fluttered back.  _There. Copy that down, okay?_

It was a circle, carved out in snow, with a number of tiny markings within it. Wirt obediently (and Beatrice had better not make fun of him for this) pulled out his journal and pen and scratched out a replica of the image. The little details took a long time to get right-- even longer, with a bluebird hovering over his shoulder and saying,  _no, that curves to the left_ and  _come on, Wirt, it's not an f, it's an s! You know, like on statues. Don't people still write like that?_

"No, they really don't," Wirt informed her. "And it looks just like an 'f'! What's the difference?"

_Curves at the bottom,_ the bluebird said distractedly.  _Hey, Wirt, this is really hard to keep up, so just-- go back home and say this--_ she repeated a number of syllables that somehow doubled as impressions, and every word of it stuck in Wirt's mind.  _That's what the witch-girl said, anyway. Y'know, Lorna? She said she knew you? Anyway, you're supposed to say that and have the circle up and everything, and you can talk to her. She said she'd have a harder time talking to you, since you didn't know her as long._ Was that a hint of smugness in her voice?  _But yeah, do that and she'll tell you more about the whole ghost thing. She'd be the one to know, right? Okay, cool, bye._

"Wait, Beatrice--" Wirt reached out towards the bird, but it fled in a panicked burst of flight and left him alone. "Oh. Possession. Right." He looked down at the sketched summoning circle. " _What_ am I supposed to do with this." Not that Beatrice hadn't told him exactly what to do with it. He just thought practicing witchcraft at home might be a bad idea. 

Still. He thought there was some kind of occult shop downtown. Maybe he could find someone who knew what they were doing in a tourist shop or something, before he attempted a ritual on his own. It was, he thought, worth a try. And what was the worst that could happen, anyway? He'd just be at the same place he'd been before.

Yeah, okay. Yeah. Wirt could work with this.

*

Wirt got his parents to drive him downtown-- or rather, he got his mom to come with him as he drove her downtown, thanks, learner's permit-- and managed to convince Greg to stay behind and keep an eye on what happened with the school. It was a weekday, but school was cancelled. Wirt walked down the rows of boutiques on the street and marveled at how weird it was being out in the middle of the day on Wednesday in February. Still-- it gave him time to figure out what was going on, so that was good.

He stopped in front of the dark storefront of  _Occult Amenities_ and stared at the pentagrams and dreamcatchers in the window. A Ouija board, a bunch of Himalayan salt lamps, sticks of incense... was this place actually going to be useful? It looked like a tourist trap. Wirt screwed up his courage and pushed in the door with a jingle.

"Welcome to Occult Amenities," the woman at the counter greeted. Wirt smiled awkwardly at her and ducked behind a bookshelf. What was he even looking for here?  _Summoning Ghosts For Dummies? An Abridged Guide to Exorcisms?_ He glanced over a shelf (rune readings? He wasn't sure what those were) and skimmed past a bunch of tarot manuals. Next shelf, then. This was all fortune telling.

Ghosts and Hauntings, the sign above the next row said. Wirt brightened and inched around a crystal display to check those books. He wasn't really sure about any Moon Goddesses (it seemed like there was enough weird stuff in his life, honestly), but ghosts were pretty well known, right? Something in those had to be real.

He wasn't alone in the aisle, he realized after he entered it. There was another person, hoodie pulled over her head and hands in her pockets, browsing the shelves. Wirt froze up a little awkwardly and bumped into a shelf, sending a couple books crashing to the floor. He winced-- he hadn't meant to do that-- and the other shopper looked up with dark, familiar eyes. 

"Wirt?" Sara asked, staring in surprise. She pulled her hood back. "Hi! I... didn't know you liked this kind of stuff." Oh god. What if she thought he was weird now? Like he was some kind of, of Satanist _?_ Wirt wasn't actually sure what Satanists did, or if they were the same as Satan worshipers or what, but he didn't want Sara to think he was one.

What if he had to run with it to save his reputation? What if he had to start wearing all black and putting on eyeshadow? He didn't know how to put on eyeshadow! No. Focus, Wirt.

"I don't," Wirt assured her, face hot. "I mean, not usually-- what are you doing here? Are you-- doing a project or something?" Wasn't her family Catholic?

"Yeah," Sara said after a long moment. "Yeah, I'm-- I'm doing a project. The disguise thing's just-- my parents'd be pretty mad if they saw me here. So. Yeah." She blinked. "Wait, so you're just looking around? I was kind of hoping you could help me find something. The lady at the counter didn't know where it'd be."

"I can still help anyway," Wirt blurted out. "I mean, I've been in a lot of bookstores and stuff, even the really weird ones? Well, you probably have too, but. I can help." Smooth moves, Wirt. "What are you looking for?"

Sara frowned. "Something on... demonic possession, I think. Or maybe just hauntings. I'm not sure yet." Wirt's blood went cold.

"Oh," he said blankly. So she'd noticed too...? But he couldn't remember anyone being possessed... "Who's possessed?"

"Jason Funderberker," Sara said seriously. "I think. I haven't told anyone else yet, though. They'd think I'm crazy." She gave a rueful smile at Wirt's expression. "Heck, you look like you think I'm crazy."

"I don't think that!" Wirt said hurriedly. "I just... Jason Funderberker?  _Really?_ " Why? 

"Jason hasn't been around for the past few days," she said. "I called him a couple days ago and he was fine, but today I went over to his house to check on him and all the windows were dark. His parents are out of town right now, so he's home alone, but he should've been home _then_. So I went into his house--" She caught Wirt's questioning look and said, "We've been neighbors for years, since we were little kids. 'Course I know where they keep their keys. Anyway, I went into his house and every light's off, and it smells like rotting, and there was a bunch of weird stuff written on the walls. And then I heard this really weird growling coming from upstairs, so I went to investigate, but I couldn't get into his room at all. And all the food in the pantry's rotted all at once, even the Twinkies. Everyone _knows_  that's not right." Sara shrugged. "So given what I learned from Bible studies and reading dubiously credible websites, I figured it was a demon. Now I've just gotta figure out how to get rid of it."

Wirt took a moment to recover his words, then said hesitantly, "It... is a demon, definitely. Greg and I saw it last night at the school. We saw Jason Funderberker, too, but he didn't seem possessed then. Maybe it only happened recently."

Sara stared. "Wait, Wirt, you saw the demon? With Greg? What were you doing so close to the school? Wait, how do you even-- you know about this stuff?" Her voice was incredulous. 

"We were walking home and Greg got distracted, so I followed him up to the school," Wirt explained. Sara was looking at him like she'd never really met him before. "And, uh, after last Halloween, I... haven't really had any trouble, believing in the supernatural."

Sara said slowly, "You were under for almost eight minutes." Wirt nodded. "So you-- saw something, then? Like an afterlife?"

"Something like that," Wirt said awkwardly. "Look, I'll-- I'll explain later. If Jason's possessed, I guess this is kind of time sensitive now? So we should probably do something, if-- if you don't mind. I think I have a ritual that can summon someone we can talk to, about the demon. I just need to do more research."

"Why?" Sara asked. Wirt blinked. She looked-- she looked  _riveted._ "Are they dangerous? And yeah, of course I'll help, this is really interesting! Plus I can't let Jason be possessed. I've known him since kindergarten, it'd be pretty bad if I just left him."

"Oh." Wirt glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "No, she's not dangerous-- well, not anymore-- but... shouldn't you always be careful with this kind of stuff? What if I summon the wrong ghost or something?"

"Do you have instructions for the ritual?"

"Well, yeah--"

"Then it's no problem," Sara said firmly. "I mean, I'm not sure we're gonna find anything to supplement you here. So let's go to your house or somewhere and summon a ghost." She grinned. "You never know, it could be fun."

"Yeah," Wirt said, thinking about the Unknown and people-eating demons and wondering if he should warn Sara about that part before she broke into Jason Funderberker's house again. But she was coming to his _house--_ Wirt smiled shakily. "Yeah. I guess it could."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not every opinion expressed by Wirt is identical to my own! And by that I mean that I don't have anything against anyone who might go to a shop like the one mentioned here.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review on your way out.


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